4/03/2011

The Blood Off Your Tendons (and thoughts on circles)

It's the blood off your tendons that makes the leather of your new shoes soft. The pain of a long journey and the regrets we feel when we step on cracks in the sidewalk. The backs we've broken. The callouses we've built that our loved ones won't rub at night. The pain of a long journey and the burn on our cheeks where our rose-tinted glasses failed us.

It's strange how we soldier forward; strange that we've stood naked- in degrees between literal and analogical- so proud, so strong and sure, for men we've lost the addresses for. Strange how we looked with eyes so soft and shaded when the winds blew wild enough to knot and noose our hair.

The pain of a long journey, like when you stare too directly and too long at passerbys on the train, when you look at the edges of two objects too color-contrasted they seem two-dimensional, the embarrassment you feel when you're caught. The vanishing of the thought that maybe one day you'd mindlessly rub their callouses in front of a blaring television without wondering where they came from, that one day you'd stand naked in front of them- in degrees between literal and analogical.

It's the blood off your tendons that makes the leather of your new shoes soft.

Me, me, me

I’m a t-rex in reading specks, wearing Monday’s undies on Sundays. I’m a strip mall superplex, drawn to the regression of y on x. The first thing I do in the morning is squint. The last thing I do at night is blink. And in between, I’m the cupcake mix mistress, a veritable dame. Call me Madam- I punnish puntificating puny puns with punderful punitive punderment.
I’ll meet your tacky toes with a tic, turn it inside out, make a limerick. Frame hullabaloos in haikus, adjust so it’s in my camera’s view. Ready. Aim. Take the picture. There. A thousand words like scripture, but really it’s just my friends. And this is us making dinner. And this is us in bathing suits, overseas clenched teeth grin saying “cheese!”
I got more mass than the Vatican City, sitting pretty, flowers tucked behind ears. Bring it down closer, now you can hear.
Yours unduly,
JaiBee